


Prelude

by LeesyWeezy



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Brothers, Drunkenness, Friendship, Gen, Pre Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:39:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeesyWeezy/pseuds/LeesyWeezy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prelude - noun - 'an action or event serving as an introduction to something more important'. For Miles and Bass, they just happened to have had an alcoholic event as their introduction to a world without electricity. Oneshot in which Bass gets drunk, Miles becomes sole carer to his best friend and both are unaware of the fact their lives will never be the same again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> I think the summary has covered everything, really. I just have a soft spot for writing old school, biffer Milroe. Add in some alcohol and you have a party on your hands. 
> 
> General warning: language and drunken humour. That really is it.  
> Disclaimer: I sadly do not own Revolution, pretty and powerful silver pendants, nanites or swords. I also, most unfortunately, do not own Miles Matheson or Bass Monroe. If I did, I would lock them in a room together and force them to talk because dear God in Heaven they need therapy and to ventilate their feelings.
> 
> The lyrics Bass quotes belong to Michael Jackson's 'Dirty Diana'. I regret nothing.  
> This is dedicated to my friends who have seen me drunk; apparently I fit that affectionate and giggly stereotype. The final exchange between Miles and Bass is loosely based on what happened between one of my best friends and I. Quelle surprise, she would be the Miles-esque one. 
> 
> I thought the Drive Angry reference was funny because Billy Burke was in that alongside Amber Heard. I also couldn't resist slipping in a soap opera reference because David Lyons popped up in Neighbours back in the day. 
> 
> With that, let's get this show on the road.

"Bass," he says wearily, feeling himself slouch forward and his chest soon collides with the bar. Oh God. His head. Against his better reasoning, Miles reaches for the nearly empty bottle in front of him. He downs the remnants in one. He knows he will really regret this in the morning.

The blonde man beside him jerks his head up, his blue eyes looking just that tad unfocused. A chuckle escapes his lips as he sets down his own drained bottle. He looks momentarily confused by the sight. Did he not have... No wait... Was there not another  bottle somewhere? This is very strange and very curious and should be investigated at once, he thinks. And then he tries to shift his chair around, causes his world to lurch around alarmingly and so decides to stop. As his spinning axis rotates, Bass decides that maybe the whole Sherlock Holmes gig could wait.

"Bass," Miles says again, a little more firmly this time. He wonders what he will have to do to get his best friend's attention. Transform into the leggy redhead that he saw him chatting to only five minutes ago? He sighs, a tiny smile beginning to form around his mouth. Heaven forbid that Bass could ever just find one woman and stick with her. Having said that, he could hardly talk.

"Yeah?" Bass drawls, a distinctive slurring of words present in his speech. He doesn't notice when Miles, through a sheer force of habit, pushes him gently back forward. He isn't even aware that he had been leaning -no, tipping - dangerously back on his chair.

"I think... I think that we should get going now," Miles says with a cough, glancing his best friend up and down. Sees a group of giggling women throwing them both encouraging looks from a corner. Right, better avoid there, he thinks, else I am never getting this man home. He can bitch and whine at me for the remainder of the night because of it, but he will be dead to the world in the morning otherwise.

Bass when tired and/or hungover is never something you want to encounter although Miles will grudgingly admit that the exact same can be said about him. Not that many people will say that to his face. Apart from Bass. On base, he's the only one that can get away with talking back to him. Miles tends to turn a deaf ear and a blind eye to most of his brother's antics around him - he also has developed a talent for sharp imitation over the years and Miles knows Bass has him down to perfection. He rolls his eyes at the thought.

"Ahh,you're a spoilsport, man," the other man says and then hiccups. Miles struggles not to roll his eyes again.

"Yeah, well, say that to me again when you can construct 's' sounds," Miles retorts wryly, beginning to pull on his jacket. Seems that this time the duty of carer has fallen to him to perform. It does alternate, he thinks. It is just that he feels he is the babysitter more often than not. He will never complain about it, however. He would much rather be the one who has to stay up to make sure Bass gets home and stuck into bed safely and in one piece rather than allow him to make his own way back like an ungainly baby giraffe.

The imagery makes him snort, because it is vivid and something he has had the pleasure to witness over the years.

"Yeah yeah, okay mom," Bass retorts, taking to placing his elbows on the bar and resting his head in his hands. "I can easily remember times when you tripped over things," he pauses, a smirk beginning to bloom as he ponders old memories, "both of the verbal and physical variety."

"I wasn't the one that walked up to a woman shouting 'where have you been all my life' before carrying her bridal style, Bass," Miles remarks dryly with a shake of the head at the memory. Bless the lady, she had found the whole episode quite funny.

Bass just chuckles. "I don't remember doing that-"

"Why am I not surprised -"

"But," Bass interrupts, his smile growing and eyes dancing in amusement, "I do remember you making out with Christie Hamilton's mom that night there was a party at her place." He laughs as Miles rolls his eyes.

Oh, he did not want to be reminded of that night at all. But that's what you get when your best friend has a fantastic memory. Probably why Miles is grateful that Bass can't hold his drink like he can. Otherwise there would be far more stories to tell.

"For the next few weeks everyone kept singing at you in the corridors. Come on Miles, can't you remember?"

"Yeah, I can." Miles sighs wearily. "I was the one being serenaded by what seemed to be the entire school, Bass."

"She's sayin' that's okay, hey baby do what you please-"

"So help me, if you start singing that now I will smash this bottle," he breaks off and gestures to the bar, "over your head."

"Ah Miles I get all tingly when you get angry," the other man drawls out with a smirk. Miles stares; wondering how long he would have until the cops showed up if he strangled his best friend here and now. He eventually decides not to answer that question. Probably safer that way.

"Don't let - what was her name again?"

Bass shrugs nonchalantly as he starts tracing the neck of his empty bottle with a finger.

"Don't let whatshername hear you say that. Might get jealous. Or freak out," here Miles breaks off to tap his best friend's hand away from the bottle, "stop doing that, you'll end up breaking it. Again," he mutters the last word with a frown. God, it really was like babysitting, sometimes.

Bass pulls on his jacket before dragging a hand through his hair. The result is that he looks like he has been dragged backwards through a hedge, but the women on the corner don't seem to mind too much, Miles notices.

"Got her number," Bass says conversationally, "says she'll call me."

 

"You're going to need to know her name then if she calls you."

Bass yawns, sticking his hands in his pockets. Must be feeling cold. The initial buzz from the alcohol is starting to wear off. "No worries man. I'll remember." He sounds confident because he knows that he will. Most likely by the time they end up in Miles' car. He'll turn around in the passenger's seat and say, "it's such and such" and award himself with a little smile.

Miles checks his watch, stifling a yawn of his own. "We're gonna have to get going soon. Else our heads will be served on a platter."

"That didn't happen last time." Bass sounds ridiculously at ease and he stretches out like a cat. "Just chill, man."

"You don't even remember last time."

"We've had too many last times for me to remember them all."

Miles laughs. God, he thinks, he's right.

"Yeah, well that's why I don't think we should let that happen again."

Now it's Bass' turn to laugh and because he's drunk it's giggly and infectious laughter that soon has Miles smiling.

"What?"

Bass shakes his head. "We actually sound like an old married couple."

"Nah," Miles says, laughing. "we're too close to be married. We're long term partners."

"So you still haven't proposed. Don't think I'll hang around waiting forever."

"I'm not the kinda guy that gets tied down."

"Then you lured me in under false pretences. That's it, we're over," Bass' words are accompanied by a dramatic and sweeping arm gesture.

"I'm keeping the records."

"I'm getting the bike."

"The one you nearly got killed on?"

"It was only a concussion and you were the one that freaked out."

"You had a concussion. Of course you couldn't freak out. You thought Bush was still President and proceeded to tell me why the two party system doesn't work," Miles chuckles with a rueful shake of the head but he omits to say that Bass has also said something along the lines of 'don't tell my mom, she'll cry. And then my sisters won't get a chance to learn to ride.' The extremely worried Miles, who had been crouched beside the dazed and disorientated man, simply had to nod and say 'of course I won't, you can trust me.' Sometimes Miles wonders if Bass can remember that particular episode, concussed or not. He swallows, his throat feeling quite thick all of a sudden.

"Well, at least the doctor was hot at the hospital. Meant I didn't have to keep looking at your face the whole time." Bass says, as he begins tracing the bottle with his finger again, the earlier warning from his best friend forgotten. Miles turns a blind eye to it.

Hell, he is actually worse than Charlie, he thinks. And she is six. She has a damn excuse.

"Nah, you banged your head pretty hard. Just didn't realise what a handsome son of a bitch I really am," he retorts, prompting another chuckle from his best friend.

There is a small clang as something metallic hits the bar floor. Miles, patting down his jeans pocket, realises his keys are missing. Glancing to the floor, he breathes a small sigh of relief and bends down to retrieve them and then -

His phone buzzes in his jacket pocket. He debates whether to pull it out and look at it, but decides against when he turns around to see that the chair beside him is empty.

"Oh for the love of God," he mutters tiredly, rubbing his eyes with a bunch of knuckles. Honestly, there are times where he wonders whether Bass is indeed close to thirty as according to his birth certificate or is he three years old and a toddler. Miles sighs as he looks again at the empty chair before he begins to rapidly scan the bar.

Birth certificates can be faked, after all.

Even babysitting Charlie and the baby seems to involve less hassle. Although the last time he was at Ben and Rachel's house, there was paint and powder and lipstick involved. It didn't go down too well.

His phone vibrates again in his pocket and once more he decides to ignore it. Whoever it is can wait. His best friend is apparently MIA here  in this bar that is about half an hour away from their base. They also have a curfew to meet. Miles sighs again in a mixture of frustration and exasperation. Picks himself out of his chair and allows himself a moment to become associated again with the floor and the wonders of gravity.

He looks first towards the giggling women in the corner who are still giving him appreciative looks -not that he isn't tempted but more there is a more important issue to deal with here, he tells himself- but his idiotic friend isn't with them. Miles glances at his watch again. It took twenty minutes to drive this far out from base. They need to leave within the next five if they even have a hope of getting back there to meet the curfew and go through the whole signing in pantomime. He thinks about whether he should ring Bass, before he wonders when exactly he turned into the frantic mother hen type.

His phone vibrates for a third time and this time Miles swallows a few choice words about impatient callers and digs it out of his jacket. Peers at it with a frown. Apparently he has had two missed calls from Ben. His phone was just making him aware of this fact. Miles' frown deepens.

Why on earth would his older brother be ringing him at this time of the night? He knew that Miles would be out and that he would be heading back to his base afterwards. There is one hell of a distance between them right now, geographically - and perhaps personally -speaking. This isn't the time to have a girly gossip session. His thumb hovers over the call back option. Should he even call back and leave a message? And say what? Here's a message for -

His phone buzzes in his hand, causing him to jump. Apparently he has a new voicemail.

His sharp eyes peer around the bar again. No sign of Bass. And it would be far too loud in here to listen to this voicemail from his big brother.

"Damn it, Bass," Miles mutters as he starts to walk towards the doors. "You better not have gone off with someone."

Sidestepping around a pair of clearly underage drinkers with a snort - at least he and Bass has actually looked the age that they were pretending to be back in the day - Miles leaves the bar and goes outside. Shivering in the cold that is such a contrast from the warm atmosphere of the small bar inside, Miles taps a few keys and holds the phone to his ear. He throws a glare at a group of drunken teenagers as they stumble noisily past.

Damn I feel old. I'm starting to act like my father did. He doesn't know whether to be amused or disgusted at that thought.

_/Miles, it’s Ben here. Listen, I need to talk to you and..._

-there is a lot of static covering the words, a lot of background noise (cars? Car horns?) that makes it hard to actually make out what Ben is saying. Miles presses his other hand over his other ear in an attempt to hear the message more clearly.

_/-it's important. Really important...._ Miles can hear Ben sigh, he sounds worried and strangely angry at the same time.

_/-... I need... It's going to..._

There is a series of muffled noises and then a click before the voicemail draws to a close. Miles frowns again as he drops his hand from his ear. He stares at his phone in front of him.

"Miles, you really need to get a new phone. We're no longer living in the nineties, man."

Bass' voice causes Miles to jump slightly and he turns around to face his friend.

"Where've you been?" He asks, raising an eyebrow at his friend's appearance. He looks at though he has been busy. "I didn't think lipstick was the fashion accessory these days. For women or for men."

Bass smiles, looking like a guilty schoolboy. "I guess it still is." He drags a hand across his mouth. "I thought I got most of it off."

"No you didn't. Looks like you have a teenager's make up bag smeared over your face."

"Someone sounds jealous."

"Really? Point him out to me. I can't see him."

"Aw man, you know you're still my person," Bass says - or rather, slurs with a drawl - and begins to rub at his face some more. He spares Miles a glance and then he raises an eyebrow. He looks instantly alert. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Trust Bass to be able to read me so well, Miles thinks. He looks down at the phone in his hand and shrugs. Bass doesn't look fooled for a second and narrows his eyes.

"Something must be up if you're actually using that thing."

Miles shakes his head, ignoring the remark regarding his relationship with technology. "It's nothing. Okay, maybe it's something," he says quickly, seeing Bass throw him a look. The standard you-can't-lie-to-me-you-moron face Bass seems to have reserved especially for him.

"It just seems a little... I don't know, out of the blue. Ben rang me," he answers his best friend's enquiring look. "A couple of times, actually. And left a message."

"Someone's keen to get you," Bass comments, leaning against the wall. "Tried ringing him back?"

Dragging a hand through his hair, the older man frowns slightly. "I was gonna to and then you showed up." He tucks his phone back into his jacket.

A very small look of hurt flickers across Bass' face briefly before it is gone. Doesn't escape his best friend's sharp eyes however. Miles thinks that Bass probably would not have even shown that much had he not drank that extra bottle.

Obviously he thinks that Miles either doesn't trust him to be there if he were to ring back or simply that he doesn't want him to be there when he rings his big brother. What an idiot.

"Don't look at me like that, you ass. It's because I got side tracked with your new beauty regime. So quit it with the puppy eyes," he says irritably, because the the cold and the incoming headache is not improving his mood. Especially not when he is trying to understand why his brother is so eager to get talking to him, and why he would leave such a strange, cryptic message.

Bass - his face thankfully now lipstick (or whatever it was) free -throws a mock punch to Miles' shoulder. Or at least that is what Miles thinks his best friend was attempting as he instead gets a fist to his jaw. Fortunately  he hadn't put his full weight behind it, otherwise Miles would have stumbled backwards.

"Damn it Bass!" He bites backs a laugh as the younger man looks bemused. Or should that be amused, Miles thinks, as he catches sight of Bass' lips beginning to curl upwards.

"Sorry! Miles, I think we should go." He utters the words with a serious, deadpan expression. "My hand/eye co-ordination is just that _little_ bit off."

"Hmm, if you say so," Miles replies with a chuckle, although sparing his friend a wary look. "Keep your hands to yourself. Someone might actually think you're picking a fight."

"Yeah, and if they did we'd know who would win." Bass' eyes dance with amusement as he smirks widely.

"Oh, sure. Me."

"Are you serious? It would be me and you know it," Bass pushes himself off the wall and steadies himself. He glances at Miles with a sudden serious expression. "You're not gonna call Ben back?"

Miles slowly shakes his head. "No point. We have to get going and I wouldn't be able to make out what he's saying. I think he was driving." Bass gives a little shrug that Miles knows to mean 'if you say so, then that's fine by me.'

"Besides," he says as he begins to walk away from the bar, Bass close beside him, "I'm already gonna be breaking the law with driving now. I don't want to break another one by being on my  phone."

"Might as well. Live life to the full," Bass says, but it's said quickly and his voice sounds a little off. When Miles spares his best friend a look, he notices that Bass is looking down at the ground and hiding his face.

(Damn it, shouldn't have mentioned driving and...)

"Hey," he says quietly as they turn the corner of the street. Bass' eyes flicker up to look at him before falling down again. A sigh.

Miles doesn't push it. He knows that face. He knows this mood. So he gives a little shake of his head even though Bass is no longer looking at him and just walks instead.

They don't speak again until they reach the car, each lost in their own thoughts.

Bass gets there first, somehow, and leans against the car with his phone out. His fingers tap quickly across the screen in a blur.

"Remember her name yet?" He asks, digging around in his pocket for the keys.

Bass looks up briefly from the phone screen and smirks. "I've short listed it down to a couple, does that count?"

Miles laughs. "It counts for now. Now get your ass in the damn car, Casanova."

Bass does what he is told and clambers in, his eyes still glued to the screen. Miles watches him with a frown, thinking about pulling out his own phone again and quickly ringing Ben. He happens to glance at his watch as he does so, however, and swears under his breath.

"Uh, Miles? I think we got to go, man," Bass comments from the open door. He watches his best friend and tilts his head, considering. "Or are you gonna ring-"

"No," it comes out a tad quicker and sharper than Miles had intended and he does not know why. He'll put it down to the alcohol. "Close the damn door and settle down."

Bass rolls his eyes, well used to his best friend's sharp tone. "Fine, mom. But if you don't hurry your own ass I'll drive."

"You don't have the keys to start it, smartass."

Bass just smiles and closes the door. Miles swears again because hell, _it's Bass_ and he could probably hotwire the damn vehicle.

"I swear to God Monroe, if you touch that car," he mutters and walks to the side of the car. He opens the door and spends a quick moment checking out the ignition. Bass smirks, eyes on the screen of his phone.

"Well, that got you moving," he comments. "Have to try that again sometime. Your face was _priceless_."

"Do you want to walk back?" Miles retorts, sliding the key in and turning on the engine. He hears Bass chuckle as he begins to reverse. Probably because he knows that for all of his threats and curses, Mikes would never just abandon him at the side of the road. He'll never say it aloud because he isn't living in a chick flick world, but it's true.

Yes, they can fight and argue - oh yes, they can, and their shouting matches and odd punch ups are legendary among those who do not know them as well those that do- but then there are the odd mumbled words of 'I'm sorry, it was my fault, I was a dick' and a nod and a carefully hidden smile before 'it's okay, man.'

Miles does still curse and threaten and glare but Bass just smirks his way through it and it works. It's just what they do.

Miles hears Bass rustle around in the seat beside him over the guitars blasting through the speakers. Sounds like he's checking his pockets.

Then something clicks in the back of his head and he sighs, dragging a hand across his face.

"Tell me you have some ID on you, man."

He hears a wry chuckle in response.

"For the love of-"

"Hey, it's no big deal. We'll not need any. Just a regular night out, they won't ask for anything."

"You better hope so," Miles replies, sparing his best friend a glance. "Every damn time -"

"Hey! Not every time. Just... Most of the time," Bass mutters, dropping his gaze back to his phone.

"I swear I'm gonna get your ID tattooed on your forehead, Bass. It'll match your arm and then we wouldn't be having the same problem every time we leave base."

Bass shrugs nonchalantly and yawns, utterly relaxed about the whole thing. Of course he is, Miles thinks, this happens all the time. He actually just takes this for a given now. "We'll be fine. Don't get your panties in a twist."

"Are you saying that to me or texting that to a woman?" Miles says dryly, then shakes his head as he sees Bass look at him from the corner of his eye. "On second thoughts, don't answer that; I really don't want to know."

Bass laughs, the same infectious laughter from the bar and soon Miles chuckles too.

"Someone's lonely. Hey, I'll tell her to round up some of her friends." Bass' eyes glitter in amusement and devious planning.

"As much as the idea appeals to me, I think I'll pass."

"More for me, then."

"Tell me you are not gonna start discussing your sex life here in my car."

Bass laughs and Miles fights the urge to slam his head off the steering wheel because encouraging a drunken version of his best friend who is normally a sarcastic little shit anyway is never a good idea.

"Not my problem if you can't get laid and want to live vicariously through me," Bass drops him a flirtatious wink before resuming his texting, thumbs tapping out a quick and fluid rhythm that Mikes knows he himself could never achieve. He doesn't have a smartphone and barely uses his phone anyway. His texting is slow and ungainly and never fails to make Bass snicker whenever he sees it.

"Vicariously?"

"It means-"

"I know what it means, you ass," he says in exasperation, "I'm just impressed you used a big word. Well done."

"That's my mission in life; just to impress you."

Miles snorts.

"Granted, it would have been more impressive if you weren't slurring every damn letter in the alphabet right now, but still."

Bass mock bows, but Miles has to push him quickly back against his seat as he begins to slip too far forward.

"Put your damn seatbelt on, for the love of God," Miles grinds his teeth in frustration. Times like these he can empathise with Ben and Rachel. People sometimes comment about his own lack of a family and wife whenever they see Ben and Rachel's perfect golden brood. Miles, instead of getting frustrated or annoyed, simply shrugs and says that looking out for Bass is enough to be dealing with.

"I'm Miles Matheson, and this is my Sergeant voice," Bass adopts Miles' own tones, "do as I say, not as I do. I'm not wearing my own seatbelt because ain't nobody got time for that-"

"You'll be out on your ass at the side of the road in a minute if you keep this up," Miles all but growls but Bass just flashes him a wide grin. Damn him because he is right - Miles doesn't have his own seatbelt on. But he throws his best friend a glare and then glues his eyes to the road in front of him. "Shut up, now. I can't concentrate with you distracting me."

A moment later, with Bass now having taken to resting his head against the car window with his eyes half closed - doesn't prevent him from carrying on texting, Miles notices - Miles then quietly snaps on his seatbelt, a hand on the steering wheel as he does so.

"You have your own crappy soap opera goin' on there, Bass," he quips. Bass grunts, his way of saying 'oh you're so witty Matheson oh no seriously get your own show'. It doesn't deter his best friend at all. "Just don't keep her up past her bed time. Probably has school tomorrow."

Bass doesn't look up but effortlessly responds with a well-known gesture.

"Yeah, same back at you," Miles says, fighting back a yawn. He was looking forward to crashing into his bed. He smiles faintly at the thought. Let's not think about the state we will most likely find ourselves in tomorrow, he thinks. No, focus on the comfort of a bed with pillows and blankets instead.

"Bass,” he queries, taking his eyes off the road, “why don't you just call her?" He has to admit that this question has been bugging him for most of the journey.

Bass snorts. "Call her? Nobody calls anyone anymore!” He sweeps his arms out in a dramatic gesture and Miles moves slightly to the left to avoid being struck again. Bass stares at his friend, “come on, man. She’s twenty-two,” glances back down at his phone again, “doesn’t even talk on the phone.”

Miles stares, a look of confusion and disbelief on his face.  Focuses back on the road again, “wow.”

(I _am_ old. And yes, I _am_ turning into my father.)

He can feel Bass’ eyes on him.

“What? You wanna give me some tech advice?” Bass sounds a little pissed off and Miles fights the urge to smile because this is what alcohol does to his friend. “You with your big, fat eighties phone?” he chuckles, looking at his own iPhone once more.

“Yeah, right,” Miles starts, preparing to launch into a defence of his phone and why he dislikes modern technology while all the time thinking about how they always seem to get into a debate after a few beers but then as if right on cue, the tinny ringtone of his aforementioned phone breaks into song. Bass is still giggling away to himself but this time Miles doesn’t join in.

“It’s my brother,” he mutters, putting the phone to his ear and he can hear only the music in the car now. Bass has fallen silent.

“Benjamin, what’s up?” he attempts to sound laid back and relaxed and thankfully the alcohol in his system is helping him with that. He refuses to look at his best friend because he knows Bass would be throwing him the biggest what -the -fuck -man look possible.

“Where have you been?” Ben almost snaps and Miles can hear frustration (and oddly enough, panic?) in his brother’s voice.

“What’s going on? What’s the matter?” Miles is starting to feel a horrible sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach and it’s not because of the bottles of beer.

“I’ve been calling; where are you?”  Ben sounds weary, his voice thick with strain.

“She’s sending photos,” Bass whispers – well, he probably thinks he’s whispering but that’s not at all the case. Miles fights the urge to roll his eyes – next time they are out, he is taking Bass’ phone off him - and instead presses the phone a little closer to his ear.

“We went out, had a few. Now we’re on our way back to base,” he sits upright, hoping that his voice isn’t coming across like Bass’ is. He frowns slightly. Cannot shake off this feeling of foreboding. “What’s goin’ on? What’s wrong?

He can hear Ben sigh. It’s that special, where do I begin sigh, the art of which his big brother seems to have perfected over the years, especially when talking to him. It’s the calm before the storm, for soon Ben is almost spitting out words in a fast and rapid torrent.

“Listen very, very carefully to me-“

“Look at that!” Bass exclaims, waving his phone in the direction of Miles. Who swings his head around so quickly he is amazed he did not suffer whiplash as he quickly and firmly shushes his best friend. He strains to catch all that Ben is saying, but his big brother is caught up in his words. Something really does have Ben on edge and this causes Miles to begin to feel very concerned.

“It’s gonna turn off-“

“-what?-“

“It’s gonna turn off,” Ben repeats and Miles can make out the sound of tap water running in the background – must be in the kitchen, he thinks absentmindedly -  as he frowns. Ben continues, “and it will never, _ever_ turn back on.”

“What’s gonna turn off? What are you talking about?” His tone is sharp and words frustrated because Ben is being so vague and with the way he is speaking, you would think he had been out drinking with them too. He spares a look at Bass, who has torn his gaze from his phone and is staring at him, eyes wide as he attempts to read the situation.

“Everything… Is gonna…Turn off…” Ben’s voice is becoming patchy and faint and Miles can barely pick out anything.

“Ben? Ben?” he says, but suddenly his phone is flickering and dies. He can hear Bass mutter at his own phone beside him.

And then all hell breaks loose, because everything in the whole damn car begins to flicker, casting furious flashes of light and colour before turning a violent shade of black. The music cuts off, the satnav goes blank and then the actual car itself grinds to a sudden stop.

Miles looks over to Bass, who looks as confused and shocked as he feels.

“You okay?” he asks, even though nothing actually happened to them. It just feels right to ask. Glances over his best friend anyway, just to make sure.

Bass nods, a little shakily. “Yeah. You?”

“I’m fine,” Miles stares at the road in front of them. There are no lights from either the lamps or any other cars around them. Nothing but the night is out there. “Can’t say the same for the car,” he adds wryly.

“What the hell just happened?” Bass asks, but all Miles can do is shrug. He doesn’t have any idea whatsoever. But Ben… Was this what Ben was talking about on the phone? Did Ben know about this, or was it something else?

_It’s gonna turn off… And it’ll never turn back on…_

Miles swallows, trying to ignore the headache that seems to be beginning to form. He can feel Bass’ gaze on him still.

(He didn’t hear what Ben was saying. I’ll… I’ll not tell him. Not yet.)

“My guess is the lights just went out.”

“No shit, Captain Obvious,” Bass retorts, dragging a hand through his hair. His voice is raspy, the sound of tiredness and drink present, but perhaps a touch of worry there, too?

“That’s Sergeant Obvious to you,” Miles says, in an attempt to liven the mood. Bass doesn’t even smile.

“Should we get out and look around?”

Miles nods slowly. “Might as well. Looks like we’re gonna have to walk the rest of the way anyway.”

They simultaneously open the car doors and get out, Miles double checking to see that Bass has gotten out without falling to the ground purely from a force of habit. He fights a chuckle though when he sees that Bass has afforded him the same treatment.

As they get out, they watch as every single headlight of the cars behind them switch off one by a one, an unique domino effect. The noise seems to ring in Miles’ ears.

Walking a few steps ahead, they stop at the boot of the car. People from the cars in front are doing the same thing. Everyone seems transfixed at what has suddenly unfolded.

The two friends look at each other. Miles sees a faint shiver run through Bass’ frame – it’s cold outside and they had been used to the heat in the car. Miles hadn’t even felt the chill until he looked at his friend.

“Bass…What the hell is goin’ on?” he says with a shake of the head; simply repeating his best friend’s previous question. It is now Bass’ turn to simply shrug and remain silent, eyes wide as he takes in the sight before them.

They both watch silently in a lurid mixture of horror and fascination as a plane tumbles from the sky.

“I don’t know,” Miles starts as Bass suddenly breaks the silence, “maybe we should get back to base.” His voice is quieter now, the slurring less pronounced, but he looks dead on his feet. Just like Miles feels.

Miles nods. “Yeah, I think we should. We should be able to walk it in less than twenty.” He pauses, considering. “When we get there, let me do the talking.”

Bass rolls his eyes, and suddenly he seems back to normal and not the dazed and disorientated figure he had been a moment ago.

“Uh, Miles? Take a look around,” he gestures, “I think me turning up drunk isn’t so big a problem anymore.”

And looking around at the amount of dead cars and seeing groups of people walk around looking confused and lost, Miles smiles grimly. Yeah, Bass, he thinks. Hell yes, you’re right.

* * *

 

The sinking sensation Miles has experience both before and after Ben’s phone call suddenly raises its ugly head again as they walk past the initial gates. Beside him, Bass lets out a low whistle and it’s damn obvious why.

The whole place is in official lockdown mode, guards posted at every door and gate – probably every damn window, too, Miles thinks with a snort – with an eerie spotlight shining brightly from the ground. At least, that was what Miles initially thought for on closer inspection the lights turn out to be small, bright candles. Hundreds of them line the route in and out. He hears Bass chuckle.

“Who were the poor bastards that had to do that?”

Miles feels too oddly wired to reply. At least the walk and chill has sobered them both up, although Bass still has a distinct slur to his words. Hopefully it won’t be noticed. If so, they could pass it off for tiredness, although Miles can imagine the bitchface that would be hurled in their direction.

“This is not good,” Bass breathes next to him. Miles nods in agreement.

They continue walking and are called to a halt a few feet away from the nearest guard. All are suited, booted and armed and all look grimly determined. But for what? Miles isn’t sure he wants to know.

(What the hell is going on?)

“Stop right there, gentlemen. IDs?”

(Here we go again. Let’s see how you get out of this one right now, Bass.)

Miles fights down the worry for his friend – he knows that if Bass can’t get admitted, he’ll be dragged off somewhere now that the base is in lockdown – and instead digs around in his pockets for his ID.

“Sergeant Miles Matheson,” he says, handing it over. The man before him peers at it closely, carefully checking Miles’ face to the picture on the card.

(Hell, they’re taking this fucking seriously.)

(Bass, you absolute idiot. What are you going to do now?)

Miles is made to wait another few seconds longer before his ID is handed back.

“You’re good,” he’s told and thus dismissed, he begins to walk ahead.

“I don’t have… I don’t…” Miles can hear Bass stumble over his words and is about to turn around and say something before Bass says, “He knows me!”

(Whatever you’re doing, Bass, this better work-)

Miles watches as Bass points to one of the armed men close to Miles. He then begins to draw up his sleeve with a single strong and steady hand.

“Sergeant Sebastian Monroe,” he says clearly, holding out his bare tattooed arm for inspection. Miles fights back a smile because damn the son of a bitch, he’s actually doing this to prove a point to him. Back in the car when Miles had mentioned his tattoo… Bass has seized on that idea and is using his inked arm as confirmation of his identity.

He stares, eyes wide open, almost daring the guard to turn him away. Said guard, who previously had stared as he had babbled, now glances at the tattoo. The armed man closest to Miles nods to him, and so the guard turns back around and looks at Bass. He nods.

“You’re good.”

Bass just walks on past, gets to Miles and together they start walking on in.

Once they’re out of earshot of the men, Miles spares Bass a glance. His best friend must know this, for he looks up and a slow, curled smirk starts to form.

“How the hell,” Miles begins, “did you get away with that?” He doesn’t know whether to be frustrated or impressed by his friend. Bass chuckles, beginning to pull down his sleeve. Still must be cold, then. Miles stares as the ink of the tattoo is covered.

“Hey, man. What can I say? Magician never reveals his secrets.” He drops Miles a wink, prompting him to roll his eyes.

“Yeah yeah. Laugh it up now, you asshole,” he almost growls, partly because of feeling tired and cold himself and partly because of worrying for his friend and feeling confused about the whole damn situation they were now in. He frowns.

(No use thinking too much about it all now. Better get going. I need to crash and get some sleep.)

“I’m done. I’m heading to bed; you better get your ass there too.”

“Miles, I’d love to, but I’m too tired tonight-“  
  
Miles throws Bass the same finger gesture he had been treated to in his car. Bass laughs and Miles finds himself chuckling too.

“Shut up and get out of my face. I’ve had enough of you this evening.”

“Nah, you love me really.”

“Don’t push it,” he says warningly, but the smile on his face negates his words.

Whatever the hell was going on could wait until the morning. Until then, there was a bed calling for him. He would go and grab a few hours of sleep and start trying to untangle the mess after that. With that thought, he begins to walk towards his dorm when he hears a muffled thud from behind him. He turns around, already certain of what he will see.

“For the love of God, Bass,” he says tiredly, rubbing his eyes. Bass grins sheepishly from the ground, reduced to being an assorted collection of arms and legs.

“Miles. Miles. Miles,” he calls from the ground as his brother walks back to him, ruefully shaking his head. “Miles, the world is spinning.”

“No shit,” the older man mutters, reaching down to pull the drunken idiot up. “The world is on a standstill, by the looks of it. But no matter what, you will always be the one that can’t hold his liquor.”

“Thanks, man,” Bass says as he is hauled to his feet. He chuckles, swaying slightly, and Miles has to keep a hold of the man. “Aw, I love you.”

“I’m easily the tenth person you said that to tonight, but thanks anyway,” Miles says, a slow smile spreading on his face because damn it, Bass always was the clingy drunk. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

"Yeah yeah, mom," the other man yawns. He proves to live up to his previous record for soon Miles feels an arm wrapped around his waist. "Miles. Miles."

"Uh huh?" Miles grunts, focusing on walking in a straight line with his best friend wrapped around him like some sort of dark blonde python. He knows it's better to just roll with Bass when he's in this mood. Hell, Bass graciously does the same when he's pissed and out of it. 

"What if this is like, you know, like," Bass yawns again, "the apocalypse. We're gonna be plunged back into the 18th century, man." The older man smiles, momentarily impressed at his best friend's historical statement. Amazed he is able to calculate that, actually. 

"Well, I'm not seeing any Horsemen, Bass. I think we're safe from the apocalypse," he retorts dryly. "But if I see any of them, I'll let you know." He finds himself yawning slightly, and suddenly remembers his headache. God, he needs to get some sleep. 

"What if," Bass says, and Miles rolls his eyes because damn the man, he's reached the compulsive conversationalist stage now. They'll be here all night and well into the morning at this rate. "Everything's goin' HG Wells on our asses-"

"Tell me you're not about to say that aliens are going to land on Earth. Let's not drag Tom Cruise into this."  
  
"Well, he would know, wouldn't he? He thinks we're all aliens after all." Bass chuckles, and Miles can feel the vibrations at his fingertips. "Or maybe it's friggin' Die Hard Four. You can be John McClane 'cause you hate computers, right. I'll be your whatsname Matt." He stumbles and his best friend has to nudge him back in the right direction with an exasperated sigh.

"Remind me to bring this conversation up with you tomorrow morning; we'll see who's laughing then."

"Whatever, McClane," and Bass giggles his infectious drunken laughter over his own joke, "He's bald in that one, you know," the fact that he adopts a serious tone complete with deadpan expression as he says this statement makes Miles smile and shake his head. He meant what he said earlier. For all that world might have suddenly gone to shit - for all they knew, the US was under attack or maybe this was a global event - the drunken version of his best friend will always require the patience of a saint to deal with, whilst at the same time being entertaining.

"I know he is. Didn't stop him from being able to shoot down a helicopter with a friggin' car though."  
  
"Or kick Maggie Q's ass. Damn she was hot."

"Hmm, she's not my type."  
  
Bass snorts. "You're the one that actually watched Drive Angry and got all lovestruck over whatshername. Maggie Q could totally beat her ass."

Miles laughs, gently steering Bass through doors as he babbles. "If you say so. Damn, I have to get you to bed," he adds, as his best friend narrowly avoids a door. "How did you get past those guys again?" He walks him down a corridor, hearing the odd burst of loud conversation from the other marines in their block. 

The other man shrugs, seemingly nonplussed. Another yawn escapes him as he rubs his eyes.

"I'm just... There is more to the eye than meets me."

Miles pauses and stares at his clingy best friend. "Yeah, of course. What you said. Come on," he adds, half pulling, half pushing the other man through the door to his bunk. He can feel his phone pressed against his chest and he suddenly finds himself thinking of Ben and his family. Were they okay? Did Ben know about all this? Did Rachel? He shakes his head as if to dispel the thoughts.

Tomorrow, he thinks. I'll get on that tomorrow. For now, he's just going to carry on with the same old role of babysitter for Bass, get him to bed and go to sleep himself. There is comfort in the thought, and he smiles.

Bass has actually rested his head on his shoulder, blonde curls tickling his neck. Miles gently shakes his shoulder a little, prompting Bass to look at him.

"Don't fall asleep on me. I'm not your pillow," Miles mutters dryly, steering them both into their dorm. 

"'Night, man," Bass drawls sleeply, but he seems childishly reluctant to move his head from his brother's shoulder. Aforementioned brother smiles.

Yes. Something comforting about this routine, indeed.

 


End file.
